Go Ghana Goooooaaaallll!!!

Kwesi Yankah Opinion Jun - 12 - 2014 , 06:27

Glad I returned to Ghana early enough last Sunday to go to South Africa.

I mean the South Africa in my living room. These are not ordinary days, you know; or else how could one have been driven from the airport towards Madina without spare taxi drivers criss-crossing your path; without a flock of church goers waving the Bible to stop vehicles under dysfunctional traffic lights!

And without the blaring of angry horns behind a slow moving saloon car, with a teenage girl behind the steering wheel, head tilted, and absent-mindedly enjoying a phone chat! Poh-poh-poh, horns would be tooting.

Not last Sunday at 3.30p.m. The streets were empty. The entire Ghana was in Pretoria--- the Pretoria at the street corner. A few drivers were flying the flag of Ghana. Others, few and far between, must have been reciting the Lord’s Prayer.

But the mood hit you at the airport, when on arrival by Delta, a loud and prolonged vuvuzela blast welcomed arriving passengers to the baggage hall. It came from purring lips of an immigration official, who must have mistaken us for passengers from Serbia straying into enemy territory.

For once, custom officials, in the spirit of nationalism, avoided lengthy queries with passengers, and would pop heads in and out of improvised stadia dotted at various nooks at Kotoka. The tortoise heads would soon disappear, to be followed by a chorus of aa-a-a-a-h!!!, then ouu-u-u-uh!! and then twea-a-a-a-a-a!

Screen stadia

Closer to the waiting room, I smelled the presence of another stadium at the corner. But it was into the biggest that I eventually pushed my trolley, at the street level. Just before then, I heard a chorus of go-oh! an abbreviated incomplete explosion, and then a full blown Aa-a-a-ah! Spectators, with a giant screen before them outside the arrival hall, were whipping fingers, shaking heads, hemming and hawing, at a near miss by Asamoah Gyan.

He had narrowly missed the post! On the screen, a replay showed him cross his arms atop his head, in disappointment. But a mischievous grin playing around Gyan’s lips after the near-miss lifted the hopes of onlookers. Indeed the pervasive mood billowing from expectant faces around was a clear weather forecast: a goal was in the offing.

Different mood

The mood was not quite the same where I was coming from. The previous day, Saturday, was a normal day in America; no single sound of vuvuzela; yet USA was playing England! Soccer was no big deal? People appeared to be more keen on the basket ball finals series between Los Angeles Lakers, and Boston Celtics.

Except that one would occasionally smell the aroma of soccer around TV sets at hotels and pubs, but with muted excitement. My Limousine driver speeding from Glen Cove Mansion Hotel in Long Island, turned on his radio, and smiled.

He appeared to have guessed my nationality, or at least my continental affiliation. With a grin on his face, he said England was ahead by one goal, without betraying emotions; but he sounded more keen on the drawn game between South Africa and Mexico the previous day. “South Africa good, Africa very good! he muttered in halting English.

His very dark hair and accent told me he was Latino. Surprisingly, he appeared excited by the modest effort of the Green Eagles, who had narrowly lost to Argentina earlier in the day. “Nigeria very good but not lucky.”

Why was a South American supporting Nigeria over Argentina? “Argentina not good at all,” he surprised me as I alighted at the Delta departure terminal of JFK in New York. “Where are you from?” I dared ask. The 40 year-old gentleman smiled, and whispered on one side of his lips, “I am from Peru. Peru no like Argentina; Argentina no good,” and drove off waving me goodbye.

For a moment, I wished that guy had refereed the Nigeria-Argentina match!

ECG blackout

At JFK, there were more people around departure monitor screens than television sets. Except that a television monitor near a Burger King spot at the food court, had dozens of anxious eyes riveted on a screen showing the England-USA match.

With almost every spectator there holding high a jug of beer, it was easy to tell: nationalism was in attendance. As I licked the far corners of my lips in a merciless shown down with ‘Big Fish Burger,’ I overheard a soft implosion of voices from the beer bar.

What was happening? I craned my neck to check the score line. In Ghana, the soft chorus would have signaled a corner kick. In USA, that meant America had equalised! The difference was telling.

Back in Ghana, I drove home from the airport, to a shocking blackout by ECG! The blow must have hit parts of East Legon, and the entire universe encircling the Ivory Tower! Later I heard it must have been a greater part of Eastern Accra. Haba! Did electricity decide to work all week all day, and decide to give way, just before Ghana-Serbia? Haba!

The same old tricks might have been at play--- capricious fiddling with the switch before big events. Electricity would be on, the entire week, but be suddenly snuffed out, just before the burial service for the late Mr Big Man. Electric cables appear to be politically sensitive these days!

Miscellaneous expenses

If funeral organisers were smart, they would have made room for one type of utilities manager or the other, under ‘miscellaneous expenses.’ And since electric waves are capable of shocks, why would the chief mourner not feel electrocuted, having missed his funeral donations and all?

A sudden power cut on the eve of a big event could simply be a reminder about tariffs and tolls. Go and pay the increased tolls and have a peace of mind. In contemporary politics, it could only mean, if you love your soccer, shut up and drop the placards!

In my neighbourhood then power generators were revving in the background, some humming gently; a few like mine, sounding like corn mills! But it was not a win-win situation; for loud yells of soccer fans in the neighborhood had been successfully drowned by purring corn mills.

The battle continued until one Serbian defender handed us a penalty opportunity. And that was it! Asamoah Gyan had done it again. Overnight the country turned topsy-turvy, something long awaited to drown economic sorrows!

Street side parties continued all night and beyond! I started receiving text messages from far and near. From USA, and far away Germany came congratulatory messages, one from Dieter, a German coach who had landed in South Africa to be part of history. Years ago he coached the Namibia national team, and had been eyeing the Black Stars.

In the text, he had asked if I would meet him in South Africa to watch Ghana-Germany.

A single kick from the right foot of Asamoah Gyan had transformed the country. Economic activity was bouncing back. Two years ago it happened with CAN 2008, when a slow start by the Stars slowed down street side retail.

Along the streets of Accra, I had overheard hawkers pleading desperately with Asamoah Gyan to please score a goal, in order to revive sale of national souvenirs.

That way, parents could pay the school fees of children! The aftermath of our match with Nigeria that year revived the souvenir business. Business thereafter boomed, and children of indigent parents traced their steps to the classroom.

And here we are again; Asamoah Gyan’s right foot has restored life. It has kick-started economic activity at the street side, and stirred the nationalist in us.

Ghana is now awash with national colours. Flags on vehicles joyously fluttering; cars festooned in colourful buntings; miniature umbrellas twirling; infants wearing oversized hats; caps pointing in reverse directions; wrist bangles jingling; colourful ear rings dangling; boyish eyes peering through Bob Okala goggles. And waists gyrating to the rhythms of life!

This article was first published during the 2010 Football World Cup.

The writer is currently the President of the Central University College.